Fill The Empty
by OzQueene
Summary: After his mother's suicide, Wheeler is heading down a road he swore he'd avoid.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Fill the Empty  
**Rating/Warnings:** R for language, themes of substance abuse, suicide, death, and sexual content, including rough sex between two consenting adults.  
**Summary: **_After his mother's suicide, Wheeler is headed down a road he swore he'd avoid.  
_

******Notes:** Unbeta'd. The title is taken from the song "No More Cry" by the band The Corrs. Please heed the warnings! This fic is darker than anything I have posted here so far.

* * *

He felt sick.

Time had leaked everywhere since the phone call. _The Phone Call._ He tried to remember his steps between The Phone Call and the moment of here and now, sitting in the geo-cruiser, but he couldn't. Memories were like water in his mind – deep, raging rivers of worry and love and grief, and thin puddles of the past few hours – packing his bags and trying to force air into his lungs because his body insisted it was too painful to keep pushing on.

_It's gonna get worse._

He tried to shut his mind off again. It was both a blessing and a curse to have it in this state. He could remember the details of The Phone Call with achingly accurate detail.

_Pills._

_Overdose._

_In her sleep._

_A note addressed to you, sir._

_We are sorry for your loss._

But since then everything was hazy and he wondered if perhaps he should be grateful for it.

He burrowed into his seat and leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, willing sleep to come and sooth him into blissful unconsciousness. Unfortunately, his mind had no intention of letting that happen.

_It's all your fault, Wheeler. It's all your fault. If you had stayed with her after Dad died, she'd have been happier and she wouldn't have done this..._

He felt the ache in his throat again – the one that signalled tears, and he clenched his jaw and his fists and fought it as fiercely as he could.

Linka glanced back at him over her shoulder, worriedly. She wished the others had come. She felt a little angry and betrayed, not sure their reasoning had been accurate.

"_We should all be there for him," she had argued, tears still tracking down her face. "We should all be there to lend him support."_

"_Ordinarily I would agree," Kwame had said gently. "But Linka, this is different. This is..." He had trailed off and tried to find the right words._

"_Sensitive," Gi had whispered for him. _

"_Why me?" Linka had asked, scrubbing the tears on her cheeks away._

"_Because you are the one he would choose," Kwame had said calmly._

_She had looked to Ma-Ti for help, but he had agreed with the others._

_She was to go with Wheeler and the others would lend their support from a gracious distance – unwilling to intrude upon the Fire Planeteer as he faced such a mountain of grief and difficulty._

She glanced down at the control panel in front of her. The entire trip had been silent. She wasn't sure what to say to him and he didn't seem to want to talk anyway. She had noticed him clenching and unclenching his fists, and she knew he was fighting some deep internal battle – but how to calm it was beyond her.

She directed her thoughts to Ma-Ti. _I do not think I can do this alone, Ma-Ti._

_You're not alone, Linka, we're here._

She didn't find his response comforting. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and spoke for the first time since they'd left. "Wheeler? Are you asleep?"

"No." His voice was barely a whisper, but she heard it.

"Well, we will be there soon," she said, a little nervous. "Where is the best place for me to land the geo-cruiser?"

She heard him sigh, though she didn't think it had anything to do with her. It was more the fact that he suddenly had to deal with something instead of sit there and curl into a ball. She wished she could let him stay there as he was.

"The roof of Mom's apartment building, I guess," he said, taking the seat next to her and running a limp hand over the controls. "Want me to take over?"

"_Nyet_, I am fine. Unless you think you would like to fly for a little while?"

He shook his head and stared out at the New York City skyline ahead.

* * *

He hadn't even noticed they'd landed. His eyes had glazed over and his inner monologue was running wild, his thoughts a spiralling whirlwind of guilt and grief.

_I should never have left here. Never._

"Wheeler?"

He jumped when Linka touched his arm. She was looking at him with a fearful sort of concern, as though he was going to disappear at any minute with a loud _pop_ and she'd never see him again.

Oh, he wished he could disappear.

He wanted to smile at her and tell her he was okay, but he got to his feet a little unsteadily and grabbed his bag. His heart fluttered crazily in his chest and he wondered if it was going to stop.

_Please stop. Please just stop and let everything go away._

He led Linka from the roof down the narrow stairs and along the dark, narrow corridor to his mother's apartment. He stopped at the door and clenched his key in his palm.

_Ma, I'm home!_

No one to greet him, this time.

Panic struck him. Would everything be the same, in there? What if her coffee mug was still draining on the sink? And her bed... had someone made it? What had they done with the sheets? Had they taken them away with his mother's body? Had they simply stripped the bed and washed the sheets and remade it all again? Or was it going to be just as it had been after they'd carried her away? Would the sheets and blankets be kicked back, cold and tainted with the smell of death?

He felt Linka's hand slip gently into his.

"Wheeler?"

He looked down at her. She was gazing up at him in worry, dark circles under her eyes. She was bound to be exhausted from the flight, and the stress of the entire day leading up to this point.

She squeezed his hand gently. "Can you go in?" she asked gently. "Do you need to go somewhere else?"

_I don't know._

His hand trembled as he lifted it to the lock – the key dancing and jumping before it slid home and turned easily; neatly.

Linka squeezed his hand again and he stepped inside. Everything looked tidied. Had she done it? Or had a neighbour or a friend done it, in preparation for his arrival? Magazines were stacked neatly on the coffee table – detailing craft projects and interior designs that his mother would never have had the chance to explore herself. She had always been doomed to live here.

_I should have come home. I should have worked here in New York and supported her and moved her out of this dump with all its bad memories._

He looked around at the various dents in the walls where his father had raged against them. Wheeler had patched the nasty ones, but he knew where each of them existed, and to his eyes they were all completely obvious.

He breathed. The place smelled of wood polish and potpourri and vacuum powder.

_She tidied up before she did it. She tidied up the fucking apartment before she went to bed. Wash the dishes? Check. Vacuum the floor? Check. Write suicide note? Check. Swallow dozens of pills? Check, check, check..._

"Linka?"

She looked up at the soft sound.

"Can you stay with me?" he asked softly. He was staring at the closed door of his mother's bedroom. As far as he was concerned, it would stay closed for the rest of time.

"Of course," she whispered back. "Of course I will."

He gripped her hand, then, crushing her fingers, and led her to his bedroom.

* * *

She had not hesitated about climbing into bed with him. His eyes were still blank and she knew there were no lustful or amorous thoughts running through his head tonight. She was there for comfort.

She cuddled against him. She was exhausted, but worry kept her awake. Wheeler's breathing was still shallow and rapid, as though he was fighting something deep within.

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. "Do you want to talk?" she whispered.

_I don't know. I'm scared to think. I don't want to think about anything. Just don't leave me, okay?_

When he failed to answer her, she kissed his brow gently and placed a gentle palm over his heart. His breathing steadied somewhat; her nearness calming him for the first time she could ever recall. Usually whenever she got close to him it sent him into a frenzy of excitement that ended in some sort of argument.

"I don't understand," he croaked, and then he was sobbing, burying his face into the warm curve of her neck, his tears hot and wet on her skin. She clutched him to her, holding him as tightly as she could, and started crying herself.

"It is hard to understand," she whispered into his hair. "Maybe we will never understand. But you need to stop blaming yourself, Yankee."

"No," he mumbled into her skin, his body trembling with fatigue and grief. "I should never have left her here alone. I should have come back after Dad died and made sure she was okay. I should have been here and I should have gotten her out –"

"Shh," Linka soothed. "It is not your fault." She kissed the top of his head and hugged him, sinking with him into the pillows and mattress as one heavy, combined weight. She ached to take his pain away. To let him sleep solidly without worry or grief. She held him tightly, kissing the top of his head and stroking his hair until his breathing calmed and he fell into an exhausted but shallow sleep.

* * *

Wheeler gazed numbly down at the new grave in front of him. The funeral was over and the small crowd that had gathered to farewell his mother had drifted away. He had no idea where they'd gone – organising a gathering after the service had never even occurred to him. He wasn't even aware of Linka's hand slipping gently into his. All he seemed to be able to think about was the weather.

It was a hot day, sunshine spilling across the green lawns and grey headstones in the cemetery. Children played in parks and birds sang and the sky was wide and open over New York City, the breeze sending white clouds sailing across the blue.

It _should_ have been black and stormy, with violent winds and rain beating and raging against everything – against the unfairness of everything. Inside him raged a storm of guilt and despair and heartache and he resented the weather for not reflecting it.

"Wheeler?" Linka whispered.

He half-turned to her, but his eyes never left the pile of earth in front of him.

"Do you want to be alone?"

He shook his head and felt her squeeze his hand gently.

His eyes shifted to the headstone next to the new grave.

_I hope you're in Hell and she's in Heaven. _

But the pain gripped his heart, fiercely.

_If there is a Heaven, they're not going to let her in any more. _

Linka leaned her head quietly against his arm, gazing down at the disturbed earth in front of her. She did not like cemeteries – even on sunshine-filled days like this. She had faced enough grief and death in her short lifetime – though those deaths had usually been a result of sickness.

She didn't think she would ever understand the feeling of losing someone as a result of their own actions, and she wasn't sure what she could do or say to ease Wheeler's mind.

She wished he would talk to her.


	2. Chapter 2

_Is this why he did it?_

It had started as one. Just one, to stop the trembling and to steady him and clear his head. Only he had well gone past that point now. His mind was a delightful, hot haze of false bravado. Alcohol swam through his blood, warming him from head to toe and providing the wonderful thought: _Who gives a fuck._

He downed the rest of his glass and staggered to his feet, the world tipping a little in front of him.

_Who gives a fuck._

It felt wonderful to wallow in selfishness. Desperate to avoid clarity – which was only bringing him guilt and pain and grief – he had turned to that hot, burning confusion his father had indulged in. Alcohol.

He had stared down at the first glass for a long time, not seriously wanting to drink it. Remembering the way his father had treated him, and the things he had said. Remembering the countless nights spent sleeping under newspapers, or behind garbage cans, or in trees in the park. Knowing that if he went home he'd get his ass kicked for some reason or another.

_Well, I have no one left. I'm not going to kick anyone's ass but my own. And after abandoning Mom, I probably need a good ass-kicking._

After the first drink, it was easy to order another.

* * *

"Wheeler, are you drunk?" Linka's voice was steeped in disbelief.

"A little." He closed the door behind him, wishing he had returned later, when she was asleep.

She uttered something with dismay – something he couldn't catch. Hell, he wasn't even sure if it was English. She moved to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"It will be okay, Yankee," she whispered. "I am here. _Da_?"

"For now," he sighed. He tugged out of her arms and disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door against her worried face.

Somewhere, he was sure, was a bottle of scotch his father had hidden.

_In your son's bedroom. Great role model, you were. Guess I had no chance, really._

He dug around under his bed and pulled the bottle out. A fair measure of it had gone already.

_Was this the bottle that finally killed you? Did you not get to finish it because your liver shut down half-way through?_

He unscrewed the cap and poured a generous amount into the water glass on his bedside table.

_Well, here's to failure, Dad._

* * *

Linka had fallen asleep on the couch, the television flickering silently and bathing her in blue light. She awoke with a jerk as Wheeler threw his bedroom door open and stumbled out, an empty glass in his hand.

He looked so desperately lost. She could smell the alcohol on him – and something else. Fear, and loneliness and guilt seemed to seep out of him. He clutched the empty glass in his hand as she gazed at him.

"You look like you could use some sleep, Yankee," she whispered. She reached out to touch his arm and he wrenched away from her angrily, making his way to the opposite side of the room – a little unsteady on his feet.

"I'm not going back to Hope Island," he said, his voice too loud for the hour. "I've decided, okay? You can go home. Take my ring – Gaia can give it to someone else."

She bit her lip, her heart racing. "You know that nobody else can wear that ring. You know it is only supposed to be you."

"I don't care any more, Linka. I've had enough." He leaned his forehead against the window and directed his glazed eyes to the dark street below. He swayed slightly. "I should never have left here."

"I think you should think about this some more," she said gently. "You are in a difficult place, Wheeler..."

He snorted. "Uh-huh."

Her stomach clenched and he turned around to face her, leaning against the wall.

"Go," he said clearly, and his limbs trembled. "_Go._"

"Wheeler, please," she whispered. "Just get some sleep and we can talk about it in the morning. We are not expected back for a few days yet."

"You'll be better off without me," he snapped, suddenly angry. He went to the door, staggering slightly, and wrenched it open. "Just get out, Linka, and leave me the hell alone. Go."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head. "_Nyet_," she whispered.

It was so sudden she didn't have time to move. He hefted the empty glass in his hand and flung it at her, missing her by inches. It shattered against the wall and she ducked, shards flying everywhere.

She heard the door slam and when she finally opened her eyes again, she was alone.

She sank to the floor and pressed her palms over her eyes, willing her body to stop shaking.

_He is going to be beside himself when he realises what he has done._

She drew in a shaky breath and started gathering up the glass, sweeping it into a neat pile and discarding it carefully. She checked herself in the mirror, but aside from being pale she noted nothing out of the ordinary. The glass had missed her.

_He is going to hate himself._

She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. She was so shocked by what had happened she found it difficult to form a proper thought.

_I should go and find him,_ she thought. But her legs were jelly and she found herself crawling into Wheeler's bed, curling herself around his pillow and sobbing until she fell asleep.

* * *

She awoke, heart pounding, to a crash from the kitchen. Nervously, she crept forward, her bare feet silent on the thin carpet, and peered out into the apartment. Wheeler stood at the kitchen table, righting the chair he had knocked over. She could smell the sweet, spicy scent of alcohol again, and she cringed.

"Wheeler?"

He didn't turn around. "What are you still doing here?" he asked softly. His voice was slow and tired.

"Waiting for you to come back," she whispered.

"Well here I am, _slatkie_," he answered quietly. His hands were shaking slightly and he gripped the chair, wanting to crumple into a ball and sleep.

She stood for a moment, shocked into stillness by his use of the word _slatkie_. Her stomach twisted a little at the flat, heartless way he said it, and she wished they were back on Hope Island and he had been whispering it in her ear instead...

"Wheeler, you need to stop," she said. Her voice was quiet. In the ridiculous hour, in the dark kitchen – light only spilling in through the windows from the street – it seemed difficult to raise her voice to anything above a whisper.

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, swaying slightly.

"Oh, Yankee," she said in dismay. She moved towards him, but he shook his head vehemently.

"Don't, Linka," he snarled. "Don't even think about it." He staggered his way past her into his bedroom and slammed the door.

After a heartbeat, she followed him, her nerves stretched and tense.

He had stripped his shirt over his head and was sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands.

"Wheeler..."

"Jesus, Linka..." He looked up at her and his eyes were swimming. "Get out of here before I hurt you again." It wasn't a threat – it was a fear, voiced, and she shook her head.

"_Nyet_, you did not hurt me," she promised, kneeling in front of him. She could smell alcohol. "You need to stop drinking," she whispered.

He gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah."

"When you are ready we will go back to Hope Island and things will be okay. _Da_, Yankee?" She took his hand.

"I can't."

"Of course you can." She edged closer to him, and, heart beating, kissed him softly. "We want you back."

_She kissed me. I could have killed her and she kissed me. _

He shook his head and his eyes were wide and sad. "No, I can't. Not after what I've done."

"Wheeler –"

"You have to go back without me." He tugged his hand out of her grip and got to his feet, separating himself from the warmth of her body.

_Stay away from me, Linka. I'm only gonna hurt you._

She scrambled after him, panic hitting her like a punch to the stomach. "_Nyet_," she denied. "I will not leave without you." She hooked her arms around his shoulders gently and reached to kiss him again, aching to be the comfort he so desired.

"You can't be with me, Linka," he said, gently unhooking her arms from around his neck. "I won't have you suffer like my mother did."

"You are _not_ your father," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Wheeler, it is okay –"

"It's not okay," he said quietly. The calm, sad way in which he was looking at her terrified her.

"Please," she whispered, shaking her head. "Just come home with me."

"I'm sorry." He dropped his arms from her but she clung onto him.

"_Nyet_, please," she sobbed. "I will not go home without you, Wheeler. You are still hurting..."

"I hurt you," he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm never going to forgive myself for that. I'm just like him, Linka, and I'm not going to put you through that."

"You are _not_ just like him!" she shouted, pushing him away angrily. "Stop it!"

He just looked at her sadly and she bit her lip.

"Will you do it again?" she asked desperately. "Will you try to hurt me again?"

"No!" he cried. "I mean – I don't know if I can promise that, Linka, but –"

"Will you drink again?" she asked. "Will you drink the next time it gets too hard?"

He gazed back at her silently.

"This was hard," she said, her voice cracking. "I know it was hard, Wheeler. But it is not your fault your mother is gone. She suffered years of abuse and that damage was beyond any repair you may have offered."

He was pale, but she pressed on.

"I have never faced what she faced," Linka said. "I have never faced what _you_ faced. My upbringing was hard too, but it was a different kind of hard. I was looked after and cared for. I cannot begin to understand how it has made you feel, losing your mother like this, but you know better than anyone – answers will not be found in a bottle." She wiped her eyes and looked at him desperately.

"Please, Yankee," she whispered. "I know you are okay, deep down. I know this is not who you are going to become. You will not let yourself become this. It is only the hurt..."

He shook his head slightly, but she took his hand and squeezed it, her eyes gazing up into his.

"It is only the hurt," she repeated softly. "It will get better. When the hurt goes away you will wake up and you will see this is not who you want to become."

"I know it's not who I want to become," he whispered. "I'm so ashamed of myself, Linka."

She wrapped her arms around him tightly and she felt him bury his head against her, his body trembling.

"I can't go back," he gasped, crushing her against him. "I'm so sorry, but I can't go back."

She buried her face in his neck. "You can, I promise," she answered. "We love you, Wheeler. You are not alone, you know."

He gave up, then. He sank into the bed with her and held her tightly, his body trembling. His arms stayed tight around her, and she locked herself around him. They lay there together, not moving, not talking – just holding each other as tightly as their bodies would allow, until the sun finally crept up.

She wasn't sure what prompted him to speak, but his grip tightened on her as he did so.

"I threw a glass at you," he whispered.

She nodded quietly.

"I could have..." He trailed off and drew a breath that shuddered desperately into his lungs.

She burrowed into him, nestling into his body and tucking her arms in against his chest.

Wheeler clutched her to him. "Stay with me," he whispered.

She nodded. "_Da_, I will."

_You should be telling her to run; telling her to get away from you. Did he feel like this too? Did he love Ma even when he hurt her? Did she try to leave? Did he beg her to stay? _

He felt Linka's breath, slow and warm against his chest.

_I could have killed her. If that glass had hit her... if it had hit her face... How the hell did I manage to get myself into this? I don't deserve her. _

_Dad didn't deserve Mom. _

_It's all just repeating itself._

He willed his mind to stop. He squeezed his eyes closed and breathed deeply. Linka smelled of his own shampoo – and something sweeter, like strawberry musk candies. The smell was wonderfully familiar and soothing – but his mind refused to be silenced.

_She kissed me. She's going to stay with me and I'm going to drag her down into this pit with me._

Slowly, he eased away from her sleeping body and pulled his shirt back on.

She didn't hear him go.


	3. Chapter 3

The wonderful thing about a city like New York was that there was always somewhere to find a drink, even so early in the morning.

"You don't look so good," was the observation from behind the bar.

Wheeler glanced at her as he accepted a full glass from her. Slender and dark, her long hair swept up away from her face. She smiled at him, but she was watching him carefully.

"Just need some hair from the dog that bit me," Wheeler muttered, swallowing a large portion of the stinging alcohol in one go.

"Well you be careful, honey," she replied, turning away to tend to another patron.

_A little late for that._

He rolled the half-empty glass in his palms, remembering the weight and crash of the glass he'd thrown at Linka. His rage in that moment had terrified him.

_There's something wrong with me. I've been no better to Ma than Dad was. I let her down just as much._

He swallowed another hefty mouthful, relishing the new burn in his throat and the hazy fog settling across his mind. He breathed a little easier. It was harder to think and easier to live with himself with the soothing burn coasting through his blood.

_I can understand why he did it._

* * *

"So I guess someone else will be serving you drinks now?"

He looked up at the voice, blinking slowly. The woman who had been serving him drinks for the past few hours was gathering her bag over her shoulder.

"Maybe," he sighed. "You off, then?"

"Shift's over, so I'm going home," she said. "Unless you think you've had enough? You have somewhere to be, honey?"

_I hate her calling me that._

"I guess," he shrugged. Then, at the thought of going back to Linka in this state: "Not really."

* * *

"Want one?"

He took the lit cigarette from her fingers and dragged heavily on it as she lit herself another one. She disappeared into the bathroom, and for a brief, insane moment, he snickered quietly to himself.

_Don't flush the condom; it's bad for the environment._

"Shit," he sighed, the foolish grin still on his face. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and waited for her to come back.

"So how come I haven't seen you around?" she asked quietly, flopping back onto the pillows.

"Been outta town."

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"Nope." He dragged on the cigarette again. Memories of stealing them out of his dad's pocket hit him, and he felt a strange sense of loss for his youth.

_Maybe things were actually easier back then. I sure managed to deal with things a lot better when I was 15._

He glanced across to the naked girl in bed with him. She was blowing smoke rings carefully, one finger toying gently with the ring through her navel. He had relished the close, anonymous contact she had offered him, and the release that had come with sex. The alcohol still clouded his mind, though he felt slow and heavy now, as opposed to free and dizzy, and he wanted to sleep.

"So, how come you're back in town now?"

"Family stuff."

"Is that why you're drunk before midday?"

"Yeah." His laugh was bitter and he crushed his cigarette out on the ashtray by her bed.

"That sucks, honey." She swung herself on top of him again. "You should just do what I did."

"What's that?"

"Cut 'em out."

"I did. Sort of."

"Not working out for you?"

He shook his head and shifted his touch to her hips, liking the way his hands looked against her dark skin.

"Got a girlfriend back home?" she asked, blowing the last drag off her cigarette gently into his face.

_Linka._

"No."

"How come?"

"I left her," he whispered, his body heavy and tired on the mattress. "I left her."

* * *

Linka ran to the door the moment she heard Wheeler's key scrabbling at the lock.

She wrenched it open and he almost fell through.

"Jesus..." He managed to right himself.

"Again?" she asked desperately. "Wheeler, why?" She burst into tears, having feared the worst and hoped for the best. As far as the proof went, hope had been useless.

"Save it, Linka," he muttered, his head pounding. He headed for the bathroom and started rifling for aspirin.

Linka sank into the couch, trembling. _Ma-Ti, I cannot do this. I cannot reach him._

Instead of Ma-Ti's calm voice coming back to her, a vision of flooding and mud and screaming people rose in front of her. She gasped and squeezed her eyes closed.

The others were busy, continuing to help as Planeteers.

_I will help you when I can, my friend,_ Ma-Ti promised. _We will all help you. _

_You need us..._

_No, he needs you. I will call. Be strong, Linka. You can do it._

She hugged one of the lumpy couch cushions and listened to the water squeal through the pipes as Wheeler stood under the shower. He emerged sometime later, pale and holding his head.

"Wheeler, where did you go?"

"A bar I know."

"You were gone so long... What have you been doing?"

He snorted. "Use your imagination."

She spun the end of her hair in her fingers. "You were with someone?" she asked. She was somewhat hopeful, and it confused her, but the thought of him being alone was more difficult to bear than the thought of him being with somebody.

"Well it's obvious after six years nothing is going to fucking happen with _you_," he said, throwing the words at her cruelly. He closed the door to his bedroom and she heard the bed creak as he collapsed onto it.

_But I kissed you_, she thought desperately. _I kissed you and I want you to be with me. And now you refuse to let me in._

She curled up in despair, silent tears making their way down her cheeks.

* * *

Linka was asleep on the couch. He crouched in front of her, watching her breathe.

_You need to go home. There's nothing you can do for me here, babe. I'm what they call a lost cause._

_Wheeler?_

He jumped to his feet, slamming his mind shut as he heard Ma-Ti's voice. Sweating, he tugged his ring from his finger and tossed it across the room.

_Try it now. Try and track my thoughts now._

Feeling shaken and yet oddly victorious, he headed for the kitchen cupboard above the refrigerator. His mother had nursed an odd nostalgia – a sentimental grip on the bottles of whiskey and vodka and various spirits his father had left behind. He grabbed the nearest one and swigged heavily from it, holding his breath to force a fit of coughing back.

He watched Linka sleep.

_You are so beautiful._

He wanted to stroke her hair, but his hands were shaking so badly he knew he'd wake her. He sat on the coffee table and watched her breathe slowly, her body and mind exhausted from what she'd had to deal with.

_I'm so sorry. Please just go home and forget about me, okay? I'm gonna take the easy way out and I'm gonna forget any of this ever happened. Any of it._

He swigged from the bottom again. The burn was intense, and fast, and he savoured it. When he stood up he couldn't stand straight, and he staggered quickly, dropping the bottle on the kitchen floor and hitting the wall. He made his way to the bedroom, vaguely aware of Linka sobbing behind him. He leaned against his closed bedroom door and let tears run down his face.

* * *

Wheeler fell into a light sleep, but awoke during the night, sick and quivering. He crawled into the bathroom and vomited, his stomach cramping and his head aching. He sat on the end of his bed and thought about going back to the bar to clear his head – or, rather, intentionally muddle it.

Unfortunately, this plan was disturbed when Linka knocked and entered timidly. "Wheeler?"

He glanced up at her irritably, but felt guilty when he saw her face. She was pale, and her eyes were red and swollen from tears, which had left watery tracks down her cheeks.

"What?" he asked, shifting his eyes to the floor. _I'm just like my father. And I always swore not to end up like him, but here I am, and Linka's right in the path of it. I could have hurt her..._

"Do you need anything?" Linka asked softly.

_I need you. Oh, God, I need you. I could have hurt you. Don't leave, please. I'm gonna die without you._

"No," he responded.

She left him, closing the door quietly behind her.

* * *

He emerged from his bedroom at midday the next day, his head pounding with each beat of his heart. The apartment was clean – the glass swept up and the windows open, the breeze carrying in warm sunshine and ridding the rooms of the smell of alcohol.

Linka was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Linka stared down into her tea. She had tried picking it up, but her hands had trembled so badly the cup had rattled against the saucer, spooking her. It steamed gently in front of her, growing cooler.

She had long since run out of tears, though she was still filled with despair.

_I cannot do this._

She watched pigeons gather on the sidewalk outside, impatiently scurrying between the tables filled with people breakfasting on such a lovely Sunday morning.

She rubbed her forehead. She had a headache – stress and tiredness forming into one rotten combination and settling across her brow and the backs of her eyes.

She had no idea what her next move should be. She knew Wheeler was hurting – and when he was hurting he tended to shut himself away. It wasn't that he hated her, or wanted to hurt her – he was desperate and broken and he wanted to deal with it alone because it was hard having other people watch. The alcohol, as far as she could tell, was just a way to block everything out. He had watched his father do it, and in his intense moment of grief, had reached for the same solution.

She sighed and toyed with the ends of her hair, coiling it around her fingers and tugging gently as she thought. It wasn't a conscious gesture – just one that came to her often, and now that she was nervous and alone she found herself indulging in the soothing pattern of stroking each ringlet against her fingers, letting her hair bounce back to its former position as though each strand contained gentle springs.

_What do I do now?_

She wasn't really asking anyone in particular, but she smiled when Ma-Ti's voice came floating back to her, warm and gentle.

_Stay with him, Linka. It will be okay._

She pushed her untouched tea away and got tiredly to her feet. "_Da_, Ma-Ti," she whispered to herself, stepping out onto the sidewalk again. "I will stay with him."

* * *

She used the spare key she still had in her pocket, and entered his apartment quietly. He was gone, and her heart sank.

_I should not have left him._

She busied herself by stripping his bed and running his sheets through the laundry. She aired the room out – the unmistakable smell of sticky alcohol and sick gradually leaving to be replaced by the clean smell of the breeze and the slight, bitter smell of traffic fumes. She rummaged through the kitchen and poured out any remaining alcohol she could find, washing it down the sink and taking the bottles out to the recycling. She found his ring on the floor and placed it carefully on his bedside table.

She remade his bed, and was just smoothing out the last wrinkles in his duvet when she heard the front door slam.

"Wheeler?" She stood in the bedroom doorway, feeling an unnerving mixture of anxiety and relief.

"I thought you were gone." His face was pale and his eyes were lined with dark circles.

To her relief, his hands were empty of any new bottles of liquor, and though his shoulders were hunched, he was no longer swaying. Sober.

_I went searching for you instead of a drink_.

She could only shake her head in response to the way he looked. It grieved her to see him like this. She watched as he sank onto the couch, his gaze blank and tired.

"Wheeler..." She crept closer to him, her heart pounding.

_Oh God, she's scared of me. She's scared of me. What the fuck have I done...?_

He clenched his hands in an effort to stop them trembling, and Linka stopped, suddenly, panic a loud roar in her ears.

"Have you eaten?" she asked. It was a normal question, but the atmosphere was so tense she was sweating, and her voice was strained.

He shook his head. At that moment all he wanted to do was sob – or slam his head against the wall. He wished she'd hit him.

_Punch me. **Punch me**. I deserve it. I need it – I need you to hurt me like I hurt you. Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me..._ It became a silent mantra in his mind, and he concentrated on it so hard it carried.

Linka was pouring Wheeler a glass of orange juice when she heard Ma-Ti's voice.

_Linka? Is Wheeler wearing his ring again?_

She glanced over to the Fire Planeteer. _Nyet, Ma-Ti._

_I can hear him. He wants you to hurt him. He is consumed by guilt._

Linka looked over to Wheeler again. "Wheeler?"

"What is it?" He was hunched over, his elbows on his knees and his hands clutching loosely at his hair.

"Will you talk to me?" she asked softly. "Please?"

_I don't want to talk, I don't. Just let me sit here, please, Linka. Just let me sit here._

She set the glass of orange juice down on the phone table by the couch, and touched his shoulder lightly; nervously.

He felt her touch like a hot coal on his skin, and he flinched.

She moved her hand away again, and sat on the coffee table, her knees almost touching his as she settled opposite him. _Please talk to me – I need you to talk to me, Yankee._

"Do you want something to eat?" she asked again, timidly.

He shook his head, rubbing his palms over his face, feeling rough stubble on his skin. _How long has it been since I shaved? Ma's funeral. How long ago was Ma's funeral?_

"Yankee?"

"What?" His voice came out harder than he intended it to.

Linka took one of his hands, carefully. She pressed her hands either side of him, tracing his long fingers and his wide palm. "Do you remember when I took Bliss, Wheeler?"

He blinked and glanced at her for a split second. She caught the flash of his eyes with her own gaze and continued.

"When it was leaving my system, I began to remember everything that had happened," she said, and her voice trembled. "I remembered Boris – and I remembered trying to hurt you, and have you take Bliss as well. I felt so ashamed... And I thought that the only way to escape from my shame and my guilt was to take _more_ Bliss. I remembered how it made me feel... how it made me forget the difficult things. It was a relief, not having to deal with the pain.

"When I was lying on the camp bed and you were all looking after me, I kept trying to think of ways to sneak away and get more of it. All I could think about was how easy it made everything. But it got better, and I was strong because I had you – and Kwame and Gi and Ma-Ti – and I made it out safely.

"I know you are feeling guilty over your mother's death, Wheeler. But it is not your fault. There is no guarantee that she would have been safe from her pain if you had been here."

"Of course she would have been," he whispered desperately. "She'd still be alive. She killed herself because she was alone."

"_Nyet_, you do not know that," Linka said gently.

"God..." He sobbed and buried his face in his hands. "I feel so sick."

She edged closer and touched his hands, pulling them away from his face and squeezing them gently. "You need to get some sleep, okay?"

He nodded. He was too numb to argue. _It's all my fault Ma's dead, and then I come here and I hurt Linka like this. If she hadn't ducked at the last minute... _

He stopped as they neared his bed, and he whirled around.

She jumped, and gasped, tearing free of him.

"Linka, I'm sorry," he whispered. "God, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you – I'd never..." He shook his head, his breath trembling from his lips and taking too long to reach his lungs again.

"I know," she murmured. She moved towards him again, her panic easing, but he stepped back.

"Hit me," he said.

"What?" She looked at him in amazement.

"Hit me."

"_Nyet_, Wheeler –"

"Please, I deserve it."

"_Nyet_!"

"Please, please," he begged. "Hurt me, Linka, I deserve it, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"_Nyet_, I can't," she sobbed. "Do not make me, please."

"Hurt me!"

She reached out and slapped him, her palm stinging. His head snapped to the side and he gasped, a red mark rising on his cheek immediately.

"Again!" he demanded. His eyes were wild.

"_Nyet_," she gasped softly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Again!" he roared.

It was defence, if anything. She struck out at him in terror, afraid of the look in his eyes – something deep and dark had risen up and was about to spill out of him, and she punched it back.

"Hurt me," he sobbed, coming at her again.

She shook her head and threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her knees clamping to his hips. He fell backwards under her weight, onto his bed, and the blankets flew up around them.

She kissed him.

_I love you and I do not want to hurt you._

She ripped at his shirt, popping buttons and gripping the fabric in her fists before she sank her teeth into the warm curve of his shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark but not break the skin. He gasped under her and she lifted her head again, her lips meeting his, her arms working their way between him and the mattress, her fingers digging into him desperately.

He sat up and threw his shirt to the floor, wrapping one arm around her waist and burying his free hand in her hair, holding her to him firmly. She shrugged her hips closer to him, settling close against him, straddling his lap. They parted only for breath, panting frantically and working at each other's clothing. Fabric tore and stretched and was tossed to the floor in useless scraps.

She felt his hands, wide and warm on her breasts, pulling gently at her skin, his fingers leaving pale streaks on her flesh. She squirmed against him, pressing her bare chest to his, hugging him tightly, her mouth moving over his shoulders, his throat, his jaw. She felt his teeth on her shoulder, felt him tug her hair free, and he spun her and pinned her to the mattress, his hand delving between her skin and her jeans, his fingers brushing the thin cotton beneath.

She lifted her hips and kicked away heavy denim, and he settled between her thighs, his hips grinding against her as they squirmed together on the bed, gasping and clutching at one another. She could feel the heat of him against the barrier of cotton around her hips, and she groaned softly as he tugged her underwear down her thighs.

She put her hands flat against his shoulders and shoved, and he stopped and rolled over, only to have her on top of him again, her nails tracking across his skin, her breath rapid and desperate. He sat up and grazed her neck again with his teeth, pulling him to her.

She shifted above him as his fingers teased against her. She tipped her head so the weight of her hair spilled down her back, and he wound his hand into it and held her there, trapped, his mouth moving over her breasts as his fingers slipped inside her body and stroked her slick flesh.

She twitched and gasped, her hips grinding against him, her body totally out of her own control now. She whimpered his name and he moved again, pinning her gently to the mattress with his weight, one hand twining with hers against the blankets, the other steadying himself against her hips.

He slid into her slowly, deliberately, and she felt his breathing measure soft and gentle suddenly, a quiet sigh spilling across her skin, his breath warm in her ear.

"Linka," he whispered. His hand cupped her face gently and tilted her head and she felt the soft press of his lips on her mouth.

He moved against her and she whimpered, adjusting herself beneath him, wrapping her legs around him and holding him to her. She kissed his shoulder gently, pressing her lips over the angry marks she had left just moments before.

She could hear his breath against her ear. Hear him sigh when she shifted beneath him. She turned her head and met his mouth with her own. Between breaths they kissed, sucking and stroking gently until he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed and a crease in his brow, his hands lifting her and clutching at her as he moved faster against her.

Somewhere, above the racing din of her heart and lungs, she could hear herself whispering to him, her voice desperate and panting. She had only a vague idea of what she was pleading for but she could feel it building inside her, hot and wet, spreading from her stomach to either end of her body, delicious thrills racing along every nerve within her.

She turned her head when she came, muffling her cry into his skin and jolting beneath him. She felt him thrust hard against her before his strokes slowed and he sank his weight onto her body, gleaming and linked to her in a helpless tangle.

* * *

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, babe."

She hugged him and he wept into her shoulder, quivering with shame and fear.

"Don't leave me," he whispered tiredly.

She kissed him gently, and kissed his tears. "Never," she promised.

"It wasn't meant to be like that." He hugged her to him, their naked bodies warm and entangled beneath the sheets. "I never wanted it to be like that; I'm sorry."

"_Nyet_, Wheeler, quiet..." She kissed him, trying to reassure him. She couldn't remember any pain during, but it hurt to move, now. She adjusted herself tenderly, wincing only slightly as she parted her thighs to wrap her legs around his, burrowing closer to him.

He touched the red marks on her skin, the signs of his teeth and his fingers on her flesh everywhere. "I was too rough," he whispered.

She shook her head and smiled up at him. "I started it," she whispered back.

He didn't smile in return. He just kissed her gently, feeling light-headed and guilty. "Did it hurt?" he asked softly.

"A little," she admitted. "But no worse than I expected."

"Linka, I'm so sorry..."

She shook her head and kissed him again. "Apologies are not needed, Wheeler." She gazed up at him, desperately wanting him to understand. "But I need you. I need you to come home. I am sorry for pushing you away, before..."

He shook his head tiredly, not ready to talk about any previous complications between them. He curled around her and they slept, the evening sun pouring in on them, warm and golden.

* * *

It was gentle, the next time. He kissed her and traced the smooth contours of her body with his fingers and his tongue, his skin warm against hers. She whimpered beneath him, running her hands over his body. She found freckles and scars she'd never noticed before. She traced the firm lines of his muscles and pushed her fingers through his hair, holding him to her as he kissed her. Her heart pounded in her chest.

When he entered her for the second time it hurt and she hissed a sharp breath through her teeth – but he waited and kissed her and moved slowly against her. Careful.

"I love you," he whispered into her skin.

* * *

When he told her of the past few days she held him tightly and kissed away his tears. When he admitted to going home with the woman from the bar she felt tremendous sadness – but it was for him and the way he felt, not for herself.

He explained his fears to her, his eyes closed and his mouth mumbling against her skin.

"I don't want to be like him," he whispered. "But it's so hard, Linka. It's easier to block it all out."

"Is it really?" she asked, tracing his jaw. "Do you feel better?"

"When I'm drunk I do," he answered miserably. "I think I understand why he did it."

"Did you really feel better, Wheeler?" she asked, pressing the question a little harder.

He thought for a long moment. He thought about sitting in the bar or lying on his bed clutching a bottle and wallowing in the misery that surrounded him. He remembered the thoughts of guilt and shame that had spiralled through his mind, accelerated by the alcohol. Remembered the way he had felt so numb and empty – and had hated it.

"No," he whispered.

She snuggled into him and sighed. "Promise me you will be here when I wake up," she murmured.

He kissed the top of her head and snaked his arms around her, holding her tightly. "I promise," he whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

Wheeler was waiting for the kettle to boil when Linka burst into the kitchen, wearing nothing but his Planeteer t-shirt. The hemline hung long around her thighs. She caught sight of him and stopped immediately, relief flooding her face.

"I thought you had gone," she said worriedly, crossing the cold kitchen tiles to wrap her arms around his waist.

"No," he murmured, hugging her back. "Sorry. I needed caffeine."

She smiled up at him and he kissed her gently. "I like your t-shirt," he said.

She gave an embarrassed laugh. "It was on the floor. I was in a hurry. I had to see if you were here..."

He nodded and kissed her again, his arms circling her slender waist to hold her tightly. The kettle clicked off and he looked at it, but made no move to let go of her.

"I think you need your hands to make your tea, Yankee," she whispered.

He chuckled and held her a little tighter. The t-shirt rode up a little, high on the backs of her thighs, and he slipped his hands beneath it, her skin warm and smooth.

"I'd rather use my hands for something else," he murmured.

"_Bozhe moy_."

He laughed, and she smiled at him, delighted at the light-hearted noise he had just made. He lifted her gently and sat her on the edge of the sink. Before he could kiss her, though, she winced.

"Oh, Linka, I'm sorry," he said, dipping his forehead against her chest. He felt her chin on the top of his head and her arms came around him.

"_Nyet,_ it is not so bad," she whispered.

"It was too rough, and fast," he said, holding her tightly. "I didn't want to hurt you like that, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

She simply shook her head and hugged him, her fingers winding into his hair.

* * *

Linka's hair was still wet from her shower, and she was wearing jeans and an old New York Mets t-shirt he had dug out of his closet for her. She was chewing her lip and watching the media coverage of the recent mudslides the other Planeteers had been dealing with.

"We should go back," he muttered, shifting his eyes from her to the television. "They probably need our help."

"Not until you are ready to go back to work," she answered, reaching across and finding his hand without shifting her gaze. "They understand. Ma-Ti can still get in touch if they need Captain Planet."

He nodded quietly, but he felt anxious. Was he ready to go back to work? Right now, here in the lounge room with Linka beside him, he felt okay. But dealing with all the pressure and danger and sadness that came with being a Planeteer sometimes... Would he ever feel strong enough to go back to it?

The past few days told him he wasn't strong enough for anything. He was deeply ashamed of his behaviour and mindset. He wasn't even sure if he'd grieved properly – and he felt guilty, as though he hadn't dedicated enough of his time to thinking about his mother. Rather, he'd tried to forget everything. Truth be told, he'd probably thought more about his father during the past few days.

"We should eat something," she murmured suddenly. "I have only just realised we have barely eaten over the past few days."

"I don't think there's any food here," he said. "Let's go out."

She nodded in agreement, and turned the television off. "Let me change my shirt."

"No, don't," he said, grinning and wrapping his arms around her to keep her close. "You look cute, dressed as a Mets fan."

"Why is it not _Yankees_?" she asked, raising her eyebrow at him.

"Hey, I've known the Mets for almost twenty-four years," he said. "I've only known you for six, so don't think you can change me now."

She giggled. "_Da,_ okay. Now let me up."

"No, come on." He tugged at her hand and dragged her to the door. "Let's go now. You look beautiful."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but followed him, clutching to his hand and smiling as he chatted about baseball, his voice echoing slightly in the bare stairwell.

* * *

He led her to a café, booths and tables filled with students in jeans and t-shirts, and people who had wandered out for their lunch break. He had ordered a burger and fries and she'd ordered soup and a sandwich, and they ate and chattered quietly, avoiding the serious subjects they had dealt with over the past few days and instead choosing to stick to lighter, fluffier subjects that weighed nothing and could simply float easily in the air between them.

"Favourite colour," he demanded.

"Blue."

"Why?"

"It is my turn to ask a question," she accused. "You are jumping about and taking my turn."

"No, it's part of the same question," he clarified. He watched as she stole a french-fry off his plate.

She sighed and blew her hair out of her face. "It is the colour of the sky, and the ocean, and your eyes," she said. "Now it is my turn to ask something."

He fluttered his eyelashes at her and she laughed.

"What is your favourite dessert?"

"Brownies and ice-cream," he said immediately. "Ma makes these –"

He paused, suddenly, and she caught a flash of grief behind his eyes.

"Oh, Wheeler, I am sorry, I –"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Don't. Um – Ma – my mom used to make these great brownies. She'd only do it on special occasions, you know, and her excuse was she didn't want me to get too used to them or they wouldn't be special any more." He smiled sadly, and gave a short laugh. "Man, they were great. I guess I'll never get to eat them again."

"You cannot make them?"

"No idea how to." He grinned again, though he still looked a little sad. "Guess they're gone forever."

"Perhaps she left a recipe somewhere."

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess she did. If I can find it, I'll try and make them for you – but they still won't be as good as hers were."

She smiled.

"What's _your_ favourite dessert?" he asked her.

"_Nyet,_ I cannot choose just one," she said, shaking her head.

He laughed. "You have to. The rules of the game say so."

"There are no rules," she accused.

"There are now. Name a dessert."

She sighed, and thought hard. "Khalva," she said slowly, and after what seemed a long time. "My grandmother made it for me often."

"What is it?" he asked.

"It is a custard dish," she said. "I could make it for you, I think. There are not many ingredients. But I also like sweet blini – we used to eat them to celebrate spring coming." She smiled at the memory. "I think I enjoyed the celebration of spring more than I did the blini, though. Khalva is my favourite."

She took another fry from his plate. "What was your favourite subject at school?"

"I hated school."

"That does not answer my question," she said, nudging him with her foot.

He sighed, and thought for a moment. "Phys Ed," he said.

"That is sports, _da_?"

"Yeah. And you? What was your favourite subject?"

"I had many," she said, smiling when he made a face. "I enjoyed mathematics and biology the most. And music, of course. And languages. And literature!"

"You're such a brain," he said, wrinkling his nose. "How long exactly before you get sick of me and run off to find yourself a smarter guy?"

She laughed and shook her head, pulling his hand across the table to hold it in both her own. "Never," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure. I know sometimes I make you think I do not care for you, Wheeler, but I do."

He smiled. "Yeah?"

She leaned across the table suddenly, and pulled him in and kissed him. "I love you," she said.

He sighed and slumped slightly, his forehead against hers. "I love you too. And I couldn't stand it if you – if you left me..." He trailed off and shook his head. _I'd die._

"I will not leave you," she whispered, taking his hand. "I know this has been hard, Yankee, but it will get better. I promise."

He nodded and squeezed her hand. "I know." He raised his eyes to hers. "I'm so sorry about the way I acted... I didn't know what to do, and drinking just seemed so easy..."

"Shh," she whispered, shaking her head. "I know. But I also knew it would not last, Wheeler. You are not the man your father was."

"I threw a glass at you," he groaned, dropping his eyes again and resting his forehead against his free hand.

She shivered at the memory. "_Da_, I know. But it did not hurt me."

"It could have," he moaned. "It could have taken your eye out, or scarred you for life, or _killed_ you, if it'd hit you a certain way..."

"I am fine," she soothed. "I am okay."

"I'm not," he whispered. "I'm never going to be okay with what I did to you over these past few days."

"Grief makes us do strange things," she said. "You were not yourself. I do not consider that Wheeler to be _you_."

He let out a short, explosive sigh, and smiled, and kissed her hand. "I don't deserve you." He looked up at her sadly. "It _was_ me," he said. "I guess my weaknesses are more obvious than I'd like them to be."

"Well, next time, do not trust alcohol to hold you up," she said, her voice firm and clear. "Let it be me. _Da_?"

"Yeah, okay." He kissed the ends of her fingers, tracing their slender lengths and caressing her skin lightly.

She settled herself slightly, and he smiled at her sitting opposite him, her hair falling from the loose ponytail, his Mets shirt several sizes too big for her.

"Now, Yankee," she said, using a tone that indicated the subject of the past few days was closed. "What is your favourite chocolate bar?"


	6. Chapter 6

The bedroom was cold and the air was slightly stale.

"Can you open the window?" Wheeler asked quietly, not wanting to step any further into the room just now.

Linka crossed the threadbare carpet and threw the window open, pushing the curtains aside and letting in sunshine and breezes.

She could smell dust and furniture polish and the slight, flowery scent of perfume. Wheeler's mother.

She watched him carefully. He was staring at the bed.

"Wheeler?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah..."

"We do not have to, if this is too hard..."

"No, it's gotta be done..." He rubbed his forehead and made his way slowly into his mother's bedroom, pulling the closet door open carefully.

He breathed. Perfumed sachets of lavender were stored in here, and for the rest of his life the smell would remind him of her. He felt a tremendous sadness. In that moment there was no guilt or anger attached to it, though those feelings had not disappeared forever. But just then, it was only sadness. The loss hit him fully, and he realised she was gone, and she wasn't going to slide her arms into the sleeves of her favourite dress again, or complain that her favourite t-shirt was falling apart at the seams, or stand in the living room ironing her shirts as she watched the baseball. She was gone, forever, and it was unfair and real and there was no way to wake up from it or escape it.

He felt Linka take his hand and he tore his eyes away from the clothes hanging in the closet to smile down at her.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah." He nodded and squeezed her hand. "I just don't know what to do with this stuff."

"We do not have to do anything just now," she said gently.

He shook his head. "There's no point in it sitting here. It'll be just as hard to put it off. I'll box it up and send it away."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Far away. I don't think I want to see anyone else wearing this stuff. We'll send it along to one of the charities collecting for those mudslides, or something."

She nodded and together they pulled the clothes out and sorted them, folding them quietly and organising them into boxes and bags to be taken away.

It took a surprisingly short time, and the room was almost entirely bare by the time Wheeler declared it to be enough.

"Are you sure you do not want to keep any of this?" Linka asked him.

He shook his head. "The only thing I ever came back for was Ma. I'm not going to miss anything else."

She nodded and kissed his cheek.

* * *

Linka sighed and rolled over, but her arm hit bare mattress. She sat up quickly and spotted Wheeler sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at the floor.

He turned at the sound of her shifting, and smiled. "Morning, babe."

She smiled back at him. "Are you okay?"

"Just talking to Ma-Ti." He leaned over and kissed her, nuzzling against her nose for a moment. "Coffee?"

"_Da_, that would be good."

He smiled at her again and went to fill the coffee machine as she dressed.

She joined him in the kitchen and hugged his waist, her cheek pressed against his thin t-shirt, over his shoulder blade, as he made her coffee.

"I told Ma-Ti we'd be back tomorrow," he murmured. His voice vibrated within him and she smiled at the sound of it. She pulled away from him slightly and he turned to face her.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Are you ready?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, running a hand through his bed-tousled hair. "I just don't want to be here any more, you know? I don't think it's good for me."

She looked up at him worriedly, and he kissed her forehead.

"I'm not going to run down to the bar any more," he promised. "I'm never doing that again. It was stupid and I'll never forgive myself for it."

"Wheeler –"

He shook his head and she stopped.

"I want to get back to work," he mumbled. "I miss it. Do you think that makes me a bad person?"

"_Nyet_," she whispered, sliding her arms around her neck. "Of course not."

"I still miss her," he said miserably. "I still feel like it's my fault." He wrapped his arms around her and kept speaking before she could interrupt him. "I just want to go home and have things feel normal again, you know?"

"I know," she said gently, stroking the back of his neck with her fingertips. "But there is something you have to do, first."

* * *

He sat back on his heels and looked miserably down at the earth in front of him. It was pale from the sun, and though the ground was yet to settle, shoots of grass were poking through already.

Linka touched the top of his head gently and left. He stared after her for a while, watching her wander through the gravestones, the sun shining on her blonde hair.

He turned back to his mother's bare grave and rubbed a hand over his face. "Linka insisted that I come and see you again," he sighed. He felt a little ridiculous, speaking to the mound of earth in front of him. He didn't want to think of his mother lying beneath the ground. He rubbed his jaw again and flicked his eyes back to Linka, who had moved further away and was still reading the names on all the stones around her.

"She's pretty fantastic, right?" he asked, a slow grin spreading over his face. "I think you'd like her, Ma. I wish you could have met her."

He sat there for a while longer, trying to sort his thoughts. He felt uncomfortable and sad and lonely. He watched Linka and loved how pretty she was and felt his heart swell and smile at the thought of her.

He looked at his father's grave, situated beside his mother's. "I'm not going to make the same mistakes you did," he said firmly. "I'm not doing that to her."

He placed a gentle hand over the earth that covered his mother. "I don't think I'll understand it, Ma," he muttered. "I'm not sure if I'll ever forgive you. You hurt me more than he did. I expected hurt from him. Not from you. But I hope you're happy, okay? I hope you're peaceful and you're okay."

He hesitated slightly, feeling the ridiculous nervousness and self-consciousness rise up in him again as he sat there in the sun. "I love you."

He got up and walked back to Linka, not sure if he felt better or worse, until she smiled at him.

He felt better.

* * *

The sight of the geo-cruiser sent a wave of warmth and relief through him. He suddenly felt great affection for it – it had seen them through tough times before, and now he was coming out of the toughest thing he'd ever faced, and it was here to take him home again.

He sat at the controls, but before he could do anything, Linka sank into his lap.

"Hey, I'm driving this time, babe," he said, grinning at her.

She smiled.

"Are you sure you are okay?" she asked. She wasn't doubting, or condemning, or judging him. She was simply asking.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be okay, after this."

She stroked his hair. _"Pomni, ya vsegda ryadom,_" she whispered.

He grinned and touched his forehead gently against hers. "Care to clarify for me, babe?"

She smiled back at him. "It needs no clarification," she answered, but she moved her mouth to his ear and whispered it again. "Remember, I am always next to you."

He held her tightly to him. "Then yeah," he answered. "I'm okay."


End file.
